Responsibility
by melonfields
Summary: Every hero's greatest responsibility is to sacrifice for those he has chosen to protect. It is Steve and Tony's wedding night, but the burden of his past may just be too great for Steve. Steve/Tony.


The drops of champagne glittered a luminescent gold under the pale light of the arc reactor as Tony gave the bottle a final, gentle tap against the glass. With a small smirk at the odd convenience, he put down the bottle and lifted the two champagne flutes to his chest, the only light in the dark room, and checked to ensure he hadn't scratched them in any way- Pepper would have had his head if he'd so much as grazed the wedding gifts. Satisfied, he placed the small glasses on a tray, paused, and allowed himself to let out a low sigh. He turned his back to the bar and trotted toward the window, checking over his reflection again and impatiently wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his wrinkled black slacks.

He adjusted his tie. Pushed back his hair. Tugged at the edges of his collared shirt. Noticed a new wrinkle. Readjusted his tie.

Tony thanked whatever gods there were that it was so late at night; he had never felt so ridiculous in his life – never had he been so nervous. He took one last breath, and took a slow steady pace back to the bar, picking up the tray and letting the glow of the arc reactor lead him out into the hallway. With each step, thankfully, piece by piece he regained a little of the composure and confidence that usually marked his demeanor. By the time he reached the bedroom door, he was sure that he was almost back to the carefree, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist that the media so loved. Well – cutting the playboy part now, of course. The months leading up to the wedding had marked a distinct change in Tony's preferences in _that_ department.

Putting on a winning smile, Tony opened the door.

The room lights had been dimmed to a soft orange glow, tinting the simple wooden furniture and the soft white covers on the bed. A worn leather jacket lay strewn on the floor by an open window, unaffected by the low breeze blowing and making the curtains flutter.

The Captain sat on the floor, under the window, shoulders hunched and hands running stiffly through his hair. Steve's tie was askew, shirt more than a little rumpled. The low light outlined the stoic set of his jaw and the tensed muscles in his neck. A litter of empty beer bottles lay around him and clinked occasionally against the shield that was propped upright in front of him. Smile frozen on his face, Tony chuckled nervously as he walked in on the unexpected scene.

"Couldn't wait?" Tony said lightly, placing the tray down on the bed and grabbing a glass for himself as he walked over to where Steve sat. Tony crouched down in front of Steve, next to the shield, giving it a cursory glance before focusing on his new husband. "Huh. I thought you said you couldn't get drunk. The champagne was just for show, you know. A bit of a formality, really, that's all."

"It seemed worth a try," Steve stated in his direct, articulate way. He looked up at Tony as he spoke, eyes soft but dark in a way that Tony was a familiar with, but that never boded well.

"Sorry, Tony," Steve murmured, looking down again. "It was an impulse. Our special night's barely begun and already I've botched it up. I just…" He let his arms slide down into the V between his legs, and for once, Captain Steve Rogers was less of a hero and more of a lost, skinny boy from Brooklyn.

"I was remembering the past again," Steve said finally, his voice just barely staying steady. Tony chuckled a little, looking down and taking a sip of champagne. He dropped down next to Steve; they sat in silence, both staring at the shield as if they could somehow divine some kind of answer, some kind of retribution from the script of scratches and gouges in its surface. Steve held his hands together as if in a prayer, resting his forehead against the edges of his palms. Stiffly, he began to speak again, slowly.

"When I woke up from the ice, I was alone. I woke up to a world I didn't understand, a world in which all my friends and all my enemies were long dead. I woke up half a century too late to fulfill the only promise I'd made to the first person who I think might have loved me." He closed his eyes. "I wondered if there was anything I could blame, any decision I could regret. Heh." Steve quietly slipped his hand in Tony's and leaned over, resting his head on Tony's shoulder. Tony smiled gently, but a little painfully.

"And I couldn't think of a single thing, Tony. I didn't regret anything. The deepest part of me knew that I'd made the right choice. And… and maybe this is the stupidest thing, because of course you know it too. You understand; you feel the same. But I worry and I wonder – can I really be what you need? I can't put you first, like I know someone like Pepper would. You know what it is that we have to do… and you know that this relationship won't come first, not in the battlefield. I wonder how well you'll handle it. I wonder if this is the right choice."

Tony drained the rest of the glass and put it down, slipping his now-free hand through Steve's hair, holding his lover close.

"Always the soldier, aren't you? Blunt, crude, but honest," Tony muttered into Steve's hair, "Always honest. But then again, that's what I admire most about you."

He addressed the shield, unable to look at Steve, "You know there was nothing you could have done otherwise. You made the sacrifice that any – hell – all of us have made. It's in our hell of a job description, Steve, the one that you understand so much better than the rest of us. Ha, you practically wrote it out for us back before the rest of us were even born." Slowly, Tony slid a hand over his husband's shoulders, rubbing the tension out from between Steve's shoulder blades.

"Captain America, the First Avenger," Tony continued, sighing, "sacrificing himself for our great nation. You're the one who understands our responsibility the best. But don't worry Steve… you've taught me well." He gave the Captain a small half-smile.

"You're right; we're probably in over our heads. But since when does that matter? We're superheroes, Captain Rogers. We're always in over our heads." His smile relaxed, a little more genuine now to match the little grin playing on Steve's lips. "The thing is, we'll always find a solution anyway."


End file.
